


Drift

by Lucer



Category: Hannibal (TV), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Lucer is late to the bandwagon, M/M, Multi, Pacific Rim Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucer/pseuds/Lucer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Jack Crawford steps into his classroom, five years after the Kaiju war, Will Graham feels a suspicious anxiety creeping up his throat, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of dread.</p>
<p>"They're back."</p>
<p>Pacific Rim AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He stands, waist-deep, in a field of poppies.

The sensation of soft petals brushing his fingertips is a familiar one, as he reaches out around him. It’s only late May, but summer is already in the air; a breeze rolls through and cools the thin layer of sweat on his skin from standing under the sun. The light, citrus scent of poppies mingles with the warm, sugary aroma of his mother’s homemade apple pie, wafting from the open door of the little cottage sitting perhaps fifty yards away. Dad's barbeque-ing in the back yard; black tendrils of smoke invades the tiny circle of sky above him as he lies down.

Footsteps on the front porch. “Dinner’s ready!” He can imagine his harried-looking mother standing there with flour on her hands and arms and blending into her blonde hair.

“Ok!” He yells back, his nine year old voice ringing high and clear through the air. Only when he hears the screen door slam shut does he relax back into the grass, his field of vision lined on all sides by green and red.

The smell of flowers lulls him into a kind of trance, so he almost misses it—his ears barely register the whirring noise above, growing louder by the second, before three black shapes whiz by his little patch of blue. He shrugs and closes his eyes, focusing on the poppies filling his nose again; it’s probably just reinforcements, for California or something.

Vaguely, he hears something break inside, then shoes running against hardwood floors; his mother evidently doesn’t share his calm.

He frowns in annoyance as she runs into the field, her voice frantic. “Sweetheart, come inside! Honey, where are you?!”

He opens her mouth to tell her to relax, he’d be there in a minute, and the big scary planes didn’t do anything to him-

“ _Abigail!_ ”

His eyes shoot open.

It’s 5:26pm, and he is in Cloquet Valley, Minnesota. His name is Will Graham.

Except it’s not 5:26pm, and he doesn’t _really_ know where he is.

The skin that rests against the grass isn’t his. He doesn’t know who those people are.

And this is not his memory.

The poppies and the cottage and the sky all fade into a white mist full of white noise, and all he hears before the roar of voices drowns everything out is the mother(not _his_ ), voice tense with desperation. “Abigail! Abigail!!”

_Abigail…!_

* * *

“How many of you have seen a real live Kaiju?”

Will Graham straightens his glasses as about a quarter of the class before him raise their hands. _Not an overabundance of first-hand experience._

“How many of you have lost someone because of a Kaiju?” The rest of the hands tentatively creep up to the join ones already in the air. _A class of sentimental people who can’t move on, then._ The man in the second row fiddles absentmindedly with his wedding ring, thinking about the wife he’d likely lost in an attack. The woman sitting behind him is furiously scribbling in her notebook even though he’s said a grand total of about twenty words. This is ok. He can handle this. He’s not teaching them to become pilots.

Will clicks a button on the remote in his hands, and as the lights in the classroom dim, an image of a Kaiju is projected onto the wall behind him. “Who can tell me what this creature is called and where it landed?”

Several eager hands shoot into the air. He squints through the darkness while his eyes adjust and ends up picking a figure at random. “Category two, code name Saber Tooth, Lima 2023.” A tense woman’s voice answers.

“And what made this attack special?”

“Saber aimed directly for Serenity Smoke’s plasma ray, which had killed several other Kaijus over the months before. It was one of the first times a Kaiju showed evidence of learning from past battles with Jaegers; the only evidence before this,” a short but pregnant pause, “was the incident in Shanghai the previous year.”

When he can see the young woman’s sharp brown eyes, Will nods approvingly at her. “Very good. After this attack, we started to realize that the Kaiju were following more than just natural instincts.” With his fingers he clicks through more slides, photos of increasingly menacing-looking Kaijus, “They were smart; or, at least, the ones who controlled them were. The Kaiju began to change, develop weapons targeted at the Jaegers with repeat victories. A custom evolution to bring humanity down.”

“What about Shanghai? If there was evidence of Kaiju learning, why didn’t people realize it then?” Someone at the back asks.

Will clears his throat. “You’ll have to refer to the text for details on that.”

“But you were there, weren’t you, Professor Graham?” He spots him, then, a young man with white blond hair sitting at the far left corner of the room. “Can’t you tell us what happened?”

He’s suddenly very glad for the darkness; otherwise seventy people would be able to see the expression that question put on his face. When he blinks he can see snowflakes behind his eyelids, drifting through the open conn-pod. The calm woman’s voice barely registering over the incessantly blaring alarm in his ears: ‘ _Warning. Rocket jammed. Rocket jammed._ ’

 “You,” He points to the young man, who is visibly startled to be addressed directly. “Why are you in this class?”

After the brief moment of shock passes, the student straightens in his chair and brushes back hair from his eyes. “The Shanghai attack killed my entire family, sir; I’d like to-” He pauses, frowning.

“Avenge them?” Will tilts his head down to scrutinize him through the top of his glasses; he knows this makes him seem older and more intimidating. “I’m afraid that’s going to be quite impossible.” The young man deflates a little in his seat as he turns to address the rest of his class, “As for the rest of you, my classroom is not a place for closure. If you’re expecting to hear long, inspiring tales of war that will fill you with retribution, please do all of us a favour and get out.”

Naturally, no one leaves their seat, but Will suspects he will likely lose half of the class throughout the semester. Many take this course because they remember seeing his name on the news, only to drop out when they realize he won’t thrill them with stories from his pilot days.

“This is not a combat course. My aim is not to arm you against the Kaiju, but to help you understand them. To place you inside their hive mentality, and see what makes them tick.” He flips back to the original image of Saber Tooth. “This is the moment we started to really pay attention to the Kaiju’s patterns of action, and this is where the behavioural science comes in. If you’ll kindly open your textbooks to page 394, you’ll see the most comprehensive behaviour chart for the Kaiju known to humankind, sorted by category and sex…”

The rest of the lecture passes by with no more interruptions, though Will can see in the slightly reproachful eyes of some of the students that they will not be returning. He’s gathering loose notes into his messenger bag as the classroom empties when he hears hesitant footsteps approach.

“Professor Graham?” It’s the frantic note-taker.

Will acknowledges her with a nod, but goes back to packing up. “Yes?”

“I just…I was there, in Shanghai in ‘22.” She must see him stiffen, because she lets out a gasp and raises her hands. “Oh no, I don’t want to pry at all! I know how difficult it must have been for you, with what happened with your Jaeger and all.”

He looks up at her eyes, large and nervous on her face. “Thank you, miss…?”

“Kimball.” She smiles warmly, “You probably don’t remember me, but you saved my son and I that day at the pier. You’re the reason I decided to take this class.”

Will tries to smile back, but what ends up on his face feels like a grimace. “Well, I hope you’ll find it educational. Please don’t hesitate to come to me for help.”

“Thank you so much.” She shakes his hand with a strength that surprises him, and walks away while Will fastens the clasp on his bag. Before she reaches the doorway, however, he hears the sound of bodies colliding. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

“Not at all, it was my fault entirely.” The deep voice that replies makes Will freeze in his tracks. He keeps his head firmly down on the table as the owner of said voice walks toward him, clad in the military-issue dress shoes Will had always hated. “Hello, Will.”

He doesn’t reply, simply raises his eyes to level a stare at the other man.

“A teaching post, huh? I thought you’d have left the field altogether.”

“I’m just talking at them about behavioural science, not teaching them to pilot Jaegers.”

The man lets out a hum of appreciation and comes closer. “And how are _you_ , Will? You lost touch after Shanghai; you won’t believe the strings I had to pull to find you here.”

“I guess it has been a while.” Will realizes he’s gripping the strap of his bag too tight, and lets go, feeling the tingle spread through his fingers. “How’s-” He stops himself a moment too late, wincing at the awkward silence that follows.

“You were about to ask about Bella?”

“I apologize, I know it must be a tough subject for you.”

“We had it coming for a while.” Now that he really looks at him, Jack Crawford seems to have gotten much older during the eight years in which they hadn’t spoken. He’s lost weight, there’s more white in his hair than otherwise, and the pallor of the grey sallow skin perpetually under his eyes has crept over the rest of his body. “It was… she went peacefully, in the end. We weren’t hoping for any more than that.”

“I really am sorry, Jack.”

“I know, Will. Thank you.” With a quick cough he dismisses the subject and comes forward. Will finds himself backing up automatically. “You never answered my question. How are you?”

He chuckles. “Oh, you know. Keeping sane. Moulding the bright young minds of the future, and all that.” He has a gnawing suspicion about why the other man was really here, that suspicion growing increasingly likely as the seconds pass. Will sighs and takes off his glasses. “What do you want from me, Marshal?”

“There’s no need to be so defensive; I’m only asking how my old friend is doing these days.” He says, a little smile on his face. “This job pay well? Are you living comfortably?”

Will finds himself in no mood for all this roundabout bureaucratic nonsense, but he supposes he can’t really blame a man like Jack for something that’s all but become the man’s second nature. “You’re asking if I’m stable enough to pilot.” Jack doesn’t look surprised to have been seen through.

“What would you say if I was?”

“I’d tell you to go through your address book again, Jack.” He picks up the bag from the table and starts toward the exit. “If you’re looking for a demonstration for another one of your museums, there are plenty of other ex-pilots available.” As he passes Jack, Will catches a glimpse of the other man’s eyes; there’s an intensity there that almost makes him pause.

“This isn’t for a demonstration, Will.”

He stops with his hand on the door handle, taking a deep breath in and out before turning around. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying-”

“What do you think I’m saying?” Jack’s calm is getting infuriating.

His heart is starting to pound in his chest, and he wills it to slow down. “Check your calendar, Jack; the war’s over. There hasn’t been a Kaiju sighted since ’25.”

Jack pulls a file from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands it to Will. “After we nuked the Breach, the United Nations pulled together money to place radiation probes around the site, just in case. Three days ago, we got a report from Manila.” He opens the file, and Jack points to the graph of spectral signatures. “This is what they detected. And _this_ ,” he flips the page and points to another graph. “is a signature they picked up off of Yamarashi in Los Angeles in 2017.”

“They’re the same.”

Neither of them speak for a very long time.

“Where is it now?” Will finally asks, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Roaming the sea floor, mostly. It’s been wandering, but goes back through the Breach once in a while.”

“It’s scouting,” Will says, “What we did to the Breach five years ago must have been pretty devastating to their population. Now they’re cautious; they want to check the area for threats before moving back in.” He frowns at Jack. “And the reason you’re sneaking around like this is because the higher-ups want to keep things quiet?”

“We’re not making a public statement until we can figure out what this thing wants.”

Will feels his anger rising. “What it wants is revenge. And you do realize by the time you people have ‘figured this out’ it’ll be a little hard to keep from the public?”

Jack rubs the corners of his tired eyes, sighing. “It’s been five years, Will. People have moved on with their lives. If I go out there right now and tell them the Kaiju are coming back, there’ll be mass hysteria.”

Will hands back the file, “Why do you want me for this, anyway? You’ve got the Vergers in Alaska, Bloom and Katz in San Francisco; they’re all excellent pilots.”

“But you have a special skill set, don’t you Will?” Jack presses, “Your empathic abilities make you a very unique candidate for drift compatibility.”

“It’s not so much a skill set as it is an overactive imagination.”

Jack smiles, and in that moment Will knows he won’t leave without the answer he wants. “Your overactive imagination allows you to drift with practically anyone. That’s nothing to scoff at.” The other man manoeuvres to place himself between Will and the door. “And you _are_ an excellent pilot; top of your class at the academy, and certainly one of the best in the field.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Jack.” He tries to walk around, but Jack moves to block his way continuously.

“Look, do you really think I’d come here out of anything short of necessity?” Jack still holds the file in his hands, and he points it at Will. “I’ve been running around for the last three days gathering up all the pilots still out there. If you can drift with one of them, that’s one more team we’ll have at our disposal. This is all hands on deck.” The other man raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, but I’ve never known you to turn your back on the people who need you. And _we need you_ , Will.”

_“Come on, Will, I need you here!”_

_It’s 9:07am, he is in Duluth, Minnesota. And the scene playing out in front of him is not real._

_Blood, warm and slippery on his skin, slips through his fingers as he desperately tries to keep a grip. Her glassy eyes look up at him, but she is not here. She is not bleeding out on the kitchen floor of her house from a slit on the side of her neck._

_He looks to his left, where the man lies slumped against the cabinets, bullet holes like buttons lined neatly down his torso. His vision is blocked by spots of red staining his glasses._

_“You see?”_

_“Will, stay with me!” He turns his attention back down as she gasps, and she is_ not here _._

“Will!”

It’s 3:12pm, he is in Quantico, Virginia. And his name is most assuredly Will Graham.

Jack is looking at him expectantly. He wants a decision. With a resigned sigh he takes the file from him again and flips through the pages he hasn’t gotten to. There are data compilations, pilot profiles with grainy photos, and notes on the basic layout of a battle station.

“We’ve set up a base in Guam,” Jack says, “A lot of the civilian population cleared out after the attack in ’14, and it’s close to the Breach.”

“How many do you have?”

“Jaegers? Twenty. More if I want them.” The other man pauses, giving Will a significant look. “It’s pilots I’m short on.”

“This guy you’re hitching me to,” He goes through pages of unfamiliar faces, trying to find the one. “I assume we’ll be operating his machine?”

Jack shakes his head. “His jaeger was damaged in battle just before it was decommissioned; they never got around to fixing it. I’m told his old partner was injured and is now retired. You and he will be piloting the Mongoose.”

“It’ll be good to see her again.” Will looks up at him with the beginnings of a smile, and Jack returns it. “So who am I riding with, then? Who’s my co-pilot?”

There’s a triumphant set to Jack’s mouth as he speaks. “What do you know about a man named Hannibal Lecter?”


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrives at Antonio B. Won Pat International Airport just over 24 hours later, Will is jetlagged enough not to notice the humidity and the sticky sweat making his shirt stick to his back. He nods off and on through the half-hour ride to the battle station in a military truck, every bump and jolt on the road shaking the entire metal frame of the vehicle.

He thinks he hears a thunderclap as the truck slows, and by the time they've come to a full stop outside an electric security gate flanked by two soldiers on either side, the sheet of rain falling from the sky has already obscured Will’s view.

“Goddamn tropics, huh?” Jack exclaims. Their driver opens the door for them and holds out a massive black umbrella; the roar of water against the canopy jolts him to alertness. “Will Graham,” Jack says as they approach the gate, receiving silent salutes from the soldiers there. They're buzzed in without so much as a second glance from anyone. “Welcome to Naval Base Guam.”

“A little ostentatious for a top secret operation, don't you think?” Will says as he is led through a door on the side of a nearby building. Down the hall he can see a lobby bustling with people.

Jack looks up, shaking water from the umbrella. “After the first wave of Kaiju hit in 2014, the island was evacuated, including the naval base.” He leans the umbrella against the wall beside the door and starts walking, but instead of leading them toward the lobby, Jack makes an abrupt left turn to what looks like a freight elevator. “When the Breach was closed, we took back the base, but not a lot of the natives came back. So not many curious eyes around here. And besides,” he says as they step into the elevator and the heavy steel doors close in front of them, “we’re not on this floor.”

Will raises an eyebrow at the other man, just as the elevator begins to descend with a heavy lurch. There are no buttons anywhere, which means this elevator only has one destination. “Jesus, Jack,” he remarks after about a minute. “How far down are we going?”

The Marshal says nothing, only looks straight ahead until a mute little “ding” announces they've arrived. He turns to look at Will as the doors open.

If the lobby upstairs is busy, it pales in comparison to the enormous atrium in front of Will. All four walls and the floor beneath him are reinforced concrete, and the ceiling is too high for him to make out anything more than a mess of metal beams and pipes. The noise is almost deafening; the clanging of metal on metal everywhere, workers in blue jumpsuits running across the floor carrying wrenches and jackhammers, their supervisors shouting to be heard. Will counts one, two, three, four forklifts in sight, carrying wooden crates marked with black paint from one end of the atrium to the other, emitting piercing beeps as they go.

And across the compound, the flash of soldering irons fifty feet up in the air, moving across a massive iron hull, catches Will’s eye.

Before he can do more than feel his chest clench at the sight, Jack is ushering him forward with a hand on his shoulder. “The Guam Shatterdome. Beautiful, isn't it?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“We just got new arrivals today, three more from the museum in Seattle. Our boys are patching them up as we speak.” They hitch a ride from a passing forklift, and even then it takes a few minutes to reach the other side of the atrium.

Two Jaegers stand, enclosed in temporary scaffolding, facing each other while a third approaches on a wheeled platform roughly the size of Will’s lecture hall. Dozens of men suspended on steel cables are working on the two Jaegers, one of which has an open hull with an electrical team inside it.

“Romeo Blue, mark one.” Jack points to the one on the left, “The second American Jaeger we put out. This bad boy had some good times before it was decommissioned in 2020.”

“I've heard,” Will says, looking up at the midnight blur armour decorated with golden stripes on the legs. The outer shell, unlike the moving parts inside, has been well-maintained, likely for museum display. “Hardship in Brisbane, 2019?” He’d still been in the Academy then; he remembers seeing the staggering footage of a Jaeger throwing a spear-headed kaiju off its back on the news.

Jack nods. “It was piloted by a father and son team back then. The father’s since passed, and one of his other sons is replacing him.” Two surly-looking men with red hair are standing at the foot of the Jaeger, barking for the welders to watch the paint job. They catch Will’s look, and the taller one flips him off.

He looks back to Jack who had missed the exchange, busy reading something off a technician’s clipboard. He sends the man off with a few quiet words, then gestures to the other Jaeger. “The one having open heart surgery there is Nova Hyperion, mark four South Korea.” He stops in front of two petite Asian women with a click of his heels, “Rangers. I'd like you to meet Will Graham, one of the pilots who will be joining you on this operation.”

The two pilots stay silent, but there’s respectful acknowledgement in their eyes and the firmness of their handshakes. They quickly excuse themselves soon after.

“Quiet girls, those two. But don’t underestimate them.” Jack gestures for Will to follow as he heads past the two Jaegers, “Nova’s the finest Jaeger the Koreans ever built, and those pilots took down eight Kaiju on it before the end of the war. Hey, Lass!” He suddenly calls to a young blonde woman overseeing the moving of the third Jaeger, “How’s it looking?”

With a short nod in Will’s direction, she consults the clipboard in her hand. “Looks like most of her electrical circuits are still intact. Plasma cannon will need some work, but she should be ready to run for tomorrow.”

“Good.” Jack turns to him with a satisfied smile. “I’m sure you recognize this one.”

“Serenity Smoke. Mark two, USA.” Will lets the corners of his lips creep up a little. If Smoke is here, then that means—

“Will?”

There’s a woman stepping off the platform, which has finally deposited the Jaeger in its place beside Romeo Blue. Will allows his smile to widen as he opens his arms to receive an old friend. “How are you, Alana?”

“I had no idea you were coming!” The brunette says after giving him a tight hug, with a pointed look at Jack. “You dropped off the face of the Earth after Shanghai, I never even got a chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear about that.” He finds that he’s rather missed the kindness in her eyes. “Where have you been all these years?”

“I found him at Virginia State,” Jack replies for him, “Teaching a course on Kaiju behavioural science.”

She chuckles. The years have put the tiniest of crinkles around the corners of her eyes that only show when she smiles. “Suits you.” She lets out a quick breath and takes in all the noise around her. “Look at all this. Pity we didn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“Duty calls.” She doesn’t miss his overpronunciation of the words, or the wry twist of his lips.

Neither, it seems, does Jack. “Will, we should probably get going. I’ll show you to your room, and once you’re settled, I’ll take you to meet your co-pilot.”

“Oh, speaking of which! Just hang on a second, Jack – Bev!” Alana yells over her shoulder, “Come here for a second!” She turns back to Will, “You haven’t met my co-pilot yet, have you?”

Will shakes his head as an Asian woman emerges from behind the Jaeger’s left foot and approaches. “Alana, what is it? I gotta make sure Price and Zeller don’t mess with our presets in the system-” She freezes for a second upon seeing Will, then quickens her footsteps toward them.

“Will, meet Ranger Beverly Katz. Bev, this is-”

“You’re Will Graham.” He blinks at her forwardness as she extends her hand. “You wrote the Standard Operating Procedure for Mark Three Jaegers.” Will opens his mouth but finds that he has nothing to say; instead, he shakes her hand.

“Will was a bit of a genius in the Academy,” Alana says, “He was barely out of it when he wrote that manual.”

“A manual’s not gonna do any of us a lot of good these days.” Beverly shrugs at the look her co-pilot gives her, “Hey, I’m just saying.”

“Don’t worry, Ranger Katz. Will definitely has more to offer than that.” Jack raises an arm to gesture toward the east wall of the atrium, where the war clock is set into the concrete above a wide hallway leading into the rest of the complex. “Come on, Will.”

As they start to walk away, Beverly calls out behind them, “Hey Graham! We’ll see what you got at the test run, yeah?”

Will raises an eyebrow at Jack. “The test run?”

“Every new team has to be calibrated before they can operate a Jaeger, you know that.” Jack doesn’t slow his pace as he talks, “I can’t control who will be there to watch when we do the test.”

Will clamps a hand on the other man’s arm and brings him to a stop in the middle of the crowded atrium; a fork lift honks angrily and swerves around them. “But what if something goes wrong, Jack? What if-” He leans close and lowers his voice, “After Abigail, what if there’s something wrong with me? What happens if I start chasing the rabit and there are hundreds of people just outside?”

“I guess that’s a chance we’ll have to take. Desperate times, and all that.” At Will’s deepened frown, the Marshal sighs and rests his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I trust you. It’s about time you start trusting yourself, too.”

As they approach the great hall, Jack points to the war clock, which stands at 51 hours, 6 minutes, and 17 seconds. “We started it the moment the signal was detected, so we can time the duration of their ‘observation period’ and start mapping out their plan of attack. When our advance team makes contact, that clock will be reset, and the Second Kaiju War will officially begin.”

Will stands for a minute and watches the numbers tick away on the digital display. He thinks about the rest of the world, sound asleep in their beds thinking tomorrow will be just another post-Kaiju day. He thinks about the people on this island working desperately to keep things that way. And most of all, he thinks about the look on Abigail’s face in Shanghai, just before the Kaiju reaches into their hull rocket and rips out the firing mechanism.

The red numbers on the screen change silently, but to Will they sound like the crashes of an approaching storm, each more thunderous than the last.

* * *

Will isn't sure what makes him leave his room half an hour before he's supposed to meet his co-pilot. Something in the bare concrete walls and along the edges of his rusty bed frame sets an uneasy tension across his shoulders, urging him to move.

He wanders the halls with no real destination, and somehow comes across a viewing platform that juts out from the wall of the atrium, overlooking the repair team working on Romeo Blue. Setting his phone on the floor beside him, Will eases himself down to sit at the edge of the platform, legs hanging over the gaps in the railings. He closes his eyes and lets the whirring of electric saws far below wash over him.

“It looks like my lunch spot has been invaded.”

Will turns sharply at the sound of a peculiarly accented voice—Eastern European, perhaps? A pair of well-worn but clearly expensive oxfords step into view, and Will can’t help but follow the line of the man’s legs up the rest of his body with an eyebrow raised. The man in the oxfords is dressed simply in a white button-up and slacks, but he looks absurdly formal next to Will’s ragged t-shirt and army-issued cargo pants.

“Sorry,” Will says, bracing his hands on the floor and bringing his legs back up over the edge, “I’ll get out of your way.”

He hasn’t even begun to move upwards before the solid weight of a hand is pressed onto his shoulder. “Nonsense,” the man leans down, and Will can clearly see the sharp lines of his cheekbones carving out a fine-featured face. “You were here first. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Uh,” He frowns, but the man is already sitting down. Will thinks rust must be getting onto his pants, but the stranger doesn’t seem to notice as he balances a metal tray from the cafeteria on his legs and tucks in.

The man moves with an unmistakably elegant grace, mashed potatoes and corn moving smoothly from plate to mouth without a single piece dropped; as though he’s eating in a five-star restaurant instead of a giant noisy repair shop.

If he notices Will staring, he doesn’t show it.

“Are you new here?” Will blinks in surprise, and the man seems immediately apologetic. “Forgive me, I have a particularly good memory for faces, and yours is not among my recollections.”

“It’s alright, and you’re right, actually. I just got here today.” He looks out at the streaming masses of people in the atrium, and the Jaegers lined up neatly against the wall like perfectly harmless toys on shelves.

It takes Will a while to realize the clanging of fork against metal has stopped. “Surreal, is it not?” When he turns, the stranger is looking at him with surprisingly intense interest, before redirecting his attention forward. “All these people working to fight a war we thought long over?”

“There’ll always be wars; if not with the Kaiju, then amongst ourselves.” Will says, “We tore at each other’s throats constantly before we had a common enemy.”

To his left, the man lets out a quiet, deep chuckle. “Those were the days.”

Will turns to give him a strange look, but the other man is breaking off pieces of his bread roll to eat, staring across the atrium and seemingly deep in thought. He gets onto his feet, brushing dust and flakes of rust off his pants. “It was a pleasure meeting you; sorry I took up your spot.”

“Are you a pilot?” When Will looks back at the stranger, he’s turned away from the atrium, watching Will with a curious look in his dark eyes.

He pauses and stands up a little straighter. “I am.”

“As am I.” The man offers his hand, but doesn’t stand, so Will has to awkwardly bend down to shake it. “My name is Hannibal Lecter.”

“You’re Hannibal Lecter?” Will doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that in a few hours from now, he’ll be stepping into the head of a man he can’t read past the color of his eyes. “I’m Will Graham, your co-pilot.” When the little smile on Lecter's lips doesn’t change, Will blinks. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“My information package included a photo of my co-pilot. Evidently yours did not.”

Will scoffs. “My package had photos of everyone in the operation, except you. Jack Crawford has told me nearly nothing about you.”

As if on cue, his phone buzzes loudly from where he’d forgotten it on the floor. Before Will can move, Lecter retrieves it and hands it up to him.

Jack’s voices comes on once he presses the accept button, clearly irritated. “Will, where the hell are you? I’m supposed to take you to meet Hannibal Lecter.”

“Actually, I’ve already met him.” Without waiting for a reply, he holds out the phone to Lecter, who finally gets up and takes it from him.

“Marshal Crawford? Yes, hello.” He expects Lecter to turn away during the conversation, but the man’s stare never leaves Will; he’s starting to grow unnerved by the time Lecter hangs up.

“We are to report to mission control for the test run in an hour.” Lecter says, handing the phone back. He doesn’t make a move to leave, however, as if he’s suggesting that they spend the next hour with each other. Which is a fruitless exercise however you look at it, since they’ll be in each other’s heads at the test run anyway.

Will coughs as he puts the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll see you there.” When he turns to leave, he very determinedly does not look back, but he feels Lecter’s gaze on the back of his neck all the way to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay world-building!


	3. Chapter 3

Will arrives at the conn-pod exactly fifteen minutes from initiation time to find Hannibal Lecter already there, clad in a dark grey Jaeger suit identical to Will's own. The techs are hooking Lecter up to the right hemisphere, and Will doesn't protest; he was going to request the left anyway.

Even though he'd tried to keep his eyes down, when the workers help him into position and he feels the spinal attachment click onto the back of his suit, Will can't help but look up. The observation deck across the atrium is not packed, exactly, but holds a crowd sizeable enough to make sweat begin to gather on his forehead. He spots Alana and Beverly at the front, though they're too far for him to discern the expressions on their faces. The red-headed brothers are not far off, muttering to each other. A few dozen people Will doesn't recognize flesh out the crowd, all milling around excitedly.

"Are you nervous?" Lecter asks, a calm mask settled on his own face.

"About drifting with someone I met an hour ago, or about the audience watching me do it?" Will lets a little corrosiveness seep into his voice as he speaks, and is surprised to see his co-pilot smile with what looks like genuine amusement.

At that moment, the intercom built into their helmets crackles into life. "Alright people," Jack's voice comes through authoritatively, if not a little grainy, "ready?"

Before Will can reply, Lecter's voice drifts into his ear. "We are, Marshal."

"All yours, Bowman." Jack says, "Initiate the neural bridge."

A gruff older man's voice filters through. "Roger that. Initiating neural bridge in five. Four. Three. Two."

Will shuts his eyes and waits for the familiar rush of the Drift, but still isn't completely prepared when it's suddenly there; voices filling his head and clogging his nose with the scent of memories.

Except something's different.

He can feel Lecter's consciousness poke at the recesses of his mind, and he lets it happen naturally, but the images he's offered in return are fragmented at best, fleeting images that fade away all the faster if he tries to see more. Because of his empathic abilities, it's notoriously easy for Will to chase the rabit, and he puts in effort to actively steer his mind away from those directions. But with Lecter it seems he doesn't have to try at all; the sights and sounds in front of him pass by in a blur, barely registering in Will's mind before flitting away into the flow of the Drift again. It's as if he's just woken up and is trying to hang on to the dregs of a dream slipping from his fingers.

_This isn't right,_ he thinks, and digs deeper.

As the picture of a dense forest comes more clearly into view, Will feels a shooting pain through his brain. He ignores it and concentrates harder. There's snow on the ground, but he can see it melting away by the second, and the air around him is much warmer than it should be.

The sound of small feet crunching against snow reaches his ears, but he can't see anyone, anything, for the thick smoke filling the air. Where did that come from?

There's shouting now, screaming. A resounding _boom_ shakes him until his knees hit the ground, hands wet in a puddle of melted snow. Somehow through all the carnage, the pitter patter of those feet come back, this time accompanied by high-pitched breath sounds, made shallow by fear, and there's a name on his tongue-

_Mi-_

"That's quite enough, Will."

Suddenly the throbbing pain in his head is gone, alone with the memory materializing in front of him. He finds himself standing facing Hannibal Lecter, the blank space between and around then nothing but white.

In the academy, they teach you to stay in the Drift, that the Drift is silence.

But the silence here does nothing except set Will's nerves on edge.

He wastes no time getting to the point. "What the hell is going on here?" He hears the edges of paranoia creep into his words, but pays it no heed. "Why can't I see any of your memories clearly?"

"Did you think you were the only one with mental abilities, Will?" Lecter says, walking towards him. Will visibly stiffens, and he stops.

"What are you talking about?"

The other man looks up thoughtfully, "If your ability allows you to forge neural connections, then I suppose mine does the opposite. A block, so to speak, to prevent others from straying into my thoughts too deeply."

With a jolt, Will realizes this must be why Jack put them together in the first place. Will's mind will allow the neural bridge to form, while Lecter's keeps him from chasing the rabit. It's sort of perfect, really. Not that the thought comforts Will.

"Bit of a one-sided connection."

Lecter holds out his arms on either side of him, "I carry very little into the Drift, but my connection with you is strong."

"So you get to dig around in my head while I have nothing to show for yours?"

"I was a psychiatrist before the war; old habits die hard." Lecter says, “I know you resent me for this, Will, but I simply do what I am told by Jack Crawford. He says this war needs you, and I trust his judgement, so the decision here rests with you. Can you trust the Marshal enough to do this? Can you trust me?”

Will almost laughs. “Trust you? I don’t know you, and judging by the state of all this, I never will.”

“Perhaps not through the Drift, no,” Lecter levels a small smile at him, holding Will’s eyes as he speaks. “But there are other ways to know someone. More traditional ways.”

“You want to have a slumber party and play truth-or-dare?”

Lecter takes another step forward. “Come to my quarters this evening, and allow me to make you dinner. I don’t often have the luxury to do so these days, but sometimes, if I can acquire the right ingredients…” When Will still looks unsure, the other man holds out his hands in a gesture of what Will supposes is solidarity. “I am simply asking for a chance, Will. God forbid we become friends.”

“I don’t find you that interesting.”

“Come to dinner tonight, and should you find me dull, or my meal unsavoury, I shall pester you no more.” Lecter says, “You can voice your concerns with Marshal Crawford and request to leave the operation; despite what that man says, I don’t believe he would truly make you do something you feel so uncomfortable with.”

“Oh, I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to Uncle Jack.” Will says with a grim twist of his mouth.

Even though the space around them is completely empty, the sound of a disembodied female voice from somewhere above draws Will’s attention. “Neural handshake initiated.”

“Looks like we’re needed in the real world.” Lecter points up with a smile, and the next moment Will finds himself slamming back into his Jaeger suit in the conn-pod, with the beeping and hissing of machinery around him again.

He raises his arm in front of him experimentally, and sees Lecter doing the same out of the corner of his eye. They draw their arms back simultaneously as the female voice comes back again, “Left hemisphere, calibrated. Right hemisphere, calibrated. Neural Bridge stable.”

“Connection looks good,” Jack says, and Will feels a twinge of annoyance at the sound of his voice. “Everything ok in there?”

“Peachy.” He thinks the radio transmission will likely eliminate the sarcasm in his tone, and it does.

“Alright, your weapons system is disengaged, but we’re gonna run through the action commands.” Will takes a deep breath and looks around at the familiar controls of the Mongoose as Jack gives orders to the technicians in the control centre.

“You’ll have to take the lead, Will.” Lecter says beside him. “I’ve studied the Mongoose and watched them carry out repairs, but you must be far more familiar with the controls.”

Will feels a strange satisfaction at his co-pilot’s words, but they’re true. As he activates various functions and demonstrates them to Lecter, muscle memory kicks in, and words of instruction flow from Will’s mouth like a stream. Even after almost eight years, he finds himself remembering every button and joystick, every command with a flick of his fingers.

“Feeling nostalgic?” Lecter asks, seeing the expression on Will’s face, and probably feeling his contentment through the Drift.

Will contemplates the thought for a bit with a frown. It feels, alarmingly, like coming home.

An hour later, as Will is stepping out of the conn-pod and removing his helmet, he finds his way blocked almost instantly.

“How did it go in there?” Alana asks anxiously, “It looked ok from the outside, but how did you guys Drift? You didn’t start to chase the rabit, did you? I know sometimes with your ability you have to-”

“Jesus, Alana,” Beverly puts a calming hand on her co-pilot’s arm. “Let the man breathe. Besides,” she turns to Will with an expression that looks strangely like pride. “Ranger Graham here did a little more than ok, I’d say.”

He hears the sound of Hannibal Lecter approaching before he sees him; the other man passes Will without acknowledging him in the slightest, but gives a small wave in Alana’s direction. Beverly just watches Lecter with eyes full of careful evaluation.

“So that’s your co-pilot? He any good?”

Will opens his mouth awkwardly, unsure of what to say, before Alana sees his hesitation and steps in, “He’s the best. He mentored me for a while after I graduated from the Academy.”

“Wait, this isn’t the guy you were telling me about, is it?” When Alana nods excitedly, Beverly looks over her shoulder at Lecter’s retreating figure with an eyebrow raised. “The one who fought off eleven Kaiju at Puerto Montt?”

“So basically everyone’s heard of him except me.” Will says.

Alana grins at him. “Hannibal and his co-pilot always kept a pretty low profile; that was part of the reason why they took one of the most remote battle stations. I’ve seen him in action, though, and he has this incredible... efficiency about him. You can really tell he's just as good a fighter out of a Jaeger as he is in one.”

Beverly whistles, low and appreciative.

“I learned so much from him in just a few months. You guys will make a great team.”

Will looks over her shoulder to see Lecter standing still at the end of the short hallway. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Hey, who’s up for celebratory drinks tonight? The strike team moves out tomorrow, so it’ll probably be the last chance we’ll get in a while.” Beverly gives him a pointed look at the sight of his skeptical frown. "What? The world might be coming to an end in less than 24 hours, and I can't pack a few beers in my suitcase?" She nudges Will's arm good-naturedly, "Come on, Graham, I'll let you have one for free for doubting you earlier."

Will is seriously considering the merits of an evening in the two women's company, when his wandering eyes catch Lecter's. The other man has turned around at the end of the hall and is facing Will now, his eyes bearing the silent invitation. It would be rude, he supposes, to refuse an opportunity to get to know his co-pilot.

And he has a feeling that Hannibal Lecter is a man who would not take well to rudeness.

"I have a..." He pauses a bit to find the right words. "Previous engagement. Rain check?"

The Asian woman shrugs, "Suit yourself." She walks over to the edge of the platform they're standing on, and peers down the length of Will's old Jaeger. "But I have a feeling a whole lot of rainy days are gonna go by before you cash this one in."

* * *

The hatch-like metal door Will knocks on at half past eight that night looks exactly the same as every other pilot quarters in the complex, save for the faint whiff of citrus that hangs around the doorway. After three loud raps, Will thrusts his hands firmly in his pockets and shuffles his feet awkwardly at the top of the stairs, until the muffled sound of footsteps approaches, and the door opens with a heavy creak.

“Will, you’re just in time.” Lecter says, stepping aside to let him through.

“We, uh, never set a specific time.” He doesn’t say that he’d been half hoping he’d be too late; that Lecter wouldn’t be here. His co-pilot smiles like he knows anyway.

“Nevertheless, your timing proves to be perfect.” Lecter draws back a chair at the small dining table and gestures for Will to sit. “I returned from the kitchens not too long ago.”

The room has the same dimensions as Will’s, the same wrought-iron bed frame with the flimsy thin mattress, the same fluorescent lights that bathes everything in a faintly blue glow. From his seat, Will looks at the closet filled with clothes and the small desk in the corner covered in pencil drawings, and thinks about the single, unopened suitcase in his own room. “I see you’ve settled right in.” He says, as Lecter sets the table for two.

“I’ve always made my home wherever I go,” Lecter sets a covered plate in front of him, and the smell coming from it is enough to make Will’s stomach announce its impatience. He shuffles in embarrassment, but Lecter doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Although I do have a particular weakness for France.”

Despite himself, Will’s eyes widen when Lecter lifts the cover from his plate

“Grilled trout with lemon and thyme, served with rice and garlic sautéed asparagus.” Lecter narrates with a well-practiced elegance, sitting down opposite Will and uncovering his own serving. “It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid. Without access to my own fully-stocked kitchen, I’ve had to make do with the facilities here.”

Will nudges the trout with his fork, but keeps his surprised eyes on the other man. “I haven’t had fish since before the war; how did you get your hands on this?” The fish is light and flaky in his mouth, with just a hint of citrus tang that lingers on the tip of his tongue pleasantly after he swallows.

“There are places Kaiju Blue has not touched, though they are few and far in between.” Lecter says, “This particular beauty was from Lac Manicouagan in Quebec, Canada, formed by a meteor crater; it was used mainly for hydroelectric power generation before the war, but the dam was closed off shortly after the first water toxicology reports came from San Francisco. The reservoir remains one of the few untainted bodies of water in North America.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “This must have cost a fortune.”

“I have a contact.” He phrases it in a way that suggests there’s more to the story, but Lecter simply falls silent and digs into his meal.

The silence that falls between them is not uncomfortable, exactly, but it keeps the muscles in Will’s hands tensed a little harder than perhaps necessary for cutting fish. The meal is undoubtably delicious, better than he’s tasted in years of his own meager cooking, but he hasn’t forgotten why he’s here.

Picking up a piece of trout, he raises it with his fork just high enough to look at the white flesh directly. “Fresh fish from one of the only reservoirs in the world, delivered thousands of miles to an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Will muses, catching Lecter’s attention. “If this is nothing fancy, I’d hate to see your definition of fancy.”

“Before the war, I held extravagant dinner parties at my house sometimes, for a select few guests.” At Will’s bemused expression, he continues. “I was a psychiatrist, but I kept company with people in what you may call…high society,” Lecter looks down to one side with a wistful look on his face. “I was quite a different man back then. I don’t even know if many of the people I used to call friends are alive today.”

“The war changed everyone.”

“How did it change you?” Will looks up to find Lecter’s eyes directly on his, an almost challenging glint in them. As though he now owes a piece of his own past, having heard about Lecter’s. _Quid pro quo_ , he supposes.

“Officially, I was a teacher at the FBI Academy in Quantico.” He takes the glass of water on the table and sips it for the first time, even though he doesn’t feel thirsty. “Unofficially, I consulted with the Behavioural Science Department. From time to time.”

He doesn’t have to look at Lecter to know his eyebrows are raised. “Unofficially?”

Will ignores the inquiry. “I was teaching a class the day Tresspasser made land in San Fancisco. I was in the middle of a lecture about determining time of death by insect activity when one of my students raised his hand and asked if I could stream the news on the projector. I was so startled by the request I did it.” He cuts a piece of asparagus for himself and chews contemplatively, “I sat with my class and we watched the footage on CNN. Someone was crying at the back of the class; this woman with her friend’s arm around her. And all I could think was that I couldn’t expect a decent term paper from her after this. It took me a while to realize that the term paper didn’t matter anymore.”

“What made you join the Jaeger program?”

Will shrugs. “I had a skill set, and I saw fit to use it.”

“Your empathy.” Will inclines his head slightly in agreement, but doesn’t comment. Lecter studies him for a moment, “Is that why your consulting position was never official? The FBI deemed you too unstable to be an agent?”

“You don’t need me to tell you any of this. You can just take a peek next time you’re in my head.” He can’t tell if the asparagus is over-cooked, or if the bitterness that stains his tongue is imaginary.

“I could.” Lecter admits, “Or we could have a conversation like civilized adults, and you won’t resent me for it.” He polishes off his fish with one last forkful, “I think open communication is always preferable to digging around in someone’s subconscious, don’t you?”

“Then how about some open communication on your part?” Will says. “We’re not here to talk about me; I’m not the one with secrets here.”

The other man nods graciously. “Indeed you are not. What would you like to know about me, Will?”

Will thinks for a moment, “You said you were a psychiatrist before the war?” Lecter inclines his head again. “How did you end up as a pilot?”

“I’m afraid my circumstances were not nearly as revelational as yours. It was a normal day for me; I saw patients, completed paperwork, cooked dinner for myself, then sat down to watch the evening news only to find the world around me has turned upside-down from when I woke up that morning.” Lecter sets his fork and knife down neatly on his empty plate. “For a long time, I thought about my role in this new world, but I came to the conclusion that I’d much prefer the old one instead.”

“Doesn’t sound like too strong of an argument for risking your life.”

“Like I said, I had no noble intentions to speak of, only a sense of common courtesy,” Lecter says, an amused look on his face now. “The Kaiju were awfully rude, coming to our home and trying to claim it as their own. And I believe, whenever possible, one should always try to e-”

An alarm blares so loudly over the intercom system by the door that Will’s cutlery falls from his hands and clatters onto the plate. Will expects to hear the automated female voice of the computer system, but it was Jack’s voice that comes through the speakers. “This is a code blue. All pilots and essential personnel are to report to the Command Center immediately. I repeat, this is a code blue.”

When Will’s attention comes back to Lecter, he finds the other man already looking at him. Without a word, the two rise from the table simultaneously; Lecter pushes the door open and holds it for Will as they both dash out, leaving Will’s unfinished dinner on the table.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I'm sorry?  
> I felt sudden motivation to work on this again today, and when I found the document on my computer, I discovered that I actually had chapter 4 done for a while so... here it is, guys. I WILL continue to work on this, I promise. Though I can't guarantee a timeline.   
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this thing for so long! You keep me going, seriously.

Will feels Lecter’s steady, solid presence half a step behind him all the way to the Command Center, and it helps calm the anxiety fluttering in the pit of his stomach. The two arrive to find the large room bustling with activity, but it’s the small huddle of pilots to the left they head for. As Will joins the group, he looks over Beverly’s shoulder to see the small screen on which everyone’s attention is fixated. Even through the grainy, black-and-white video feed, he can make out the movements of two massive shapes in the water.

“So much for celebrating,” Beverly murmurs to him, “I didn’t even get to open any of my beers.”

One of the brothers piloting Romeo Blue suddenly points to the screen at one of the Kaiju. “’The hell is that, some kind of fin?”

Beverly turns sideways to let Will manoeuvre his way closer to the centre of the group. He squints at the screen at the blurry edges of the Kaiju’s back, but before he can offer his input, Lecter’s voice rings out beside him.

“Wings. Could be vestigial, from this view, but we shouldn’t take any chances.”

The other red-haired brother looks at Lecter, then back at the screen. “Shit,” he mutters.

Will finds himself inclined to agree. Less than five percent of sighted Kaiju have had the ability to fly, but none of them have ever been brought down without casualties. Facing the two Kaiju together underwater, with possibly more coming through the Breach any second, would likely be a suicide mission. But Jack’s announcement had made it clear: code blue means deployment. They’re making their move.

“Alright, people,” the hustle and bustle of the room slows at the sound of Jack’s voice; he’s standing on a chair in front of the control panels, elevated so the grim expression on his face can be seen across the room. “At approximately twenty-one twenty-three this evening, another Kaiju signature was detected emerging from the Breach. Our analysts have confirmed that we are now dealing with two category five’s.”

Will tenses, and sees the pilots around him do the same. The only category five ever recorded in human history was at the battle of the Breach, at the end of the last Kaiju War. Since then, the data from that incident has been analyzed the world over, but since the carcass was never recovered no one knows much about the creature, or others presumably like it. Will realizes with a wry smile that they’ll be making history tonight.

“As you know, the preliminary strike team was set to engage the first target, code name Slithertail, tomorrow morning. In light of recent events, our timeline has changed; the strike team will move out in one hour, and proceed with the original plan of attack. All other pilots are to be on standby for possible assistance.” For a moment, Jack’s face is overcome with an expression the word “exhausted” cannot come close to describing. “As of this moment, ladies and gentlemen, we are at war.” Without another word, the Marshal steps off his makeshift pedestal and weaves his way through the crowd, which has begun to move with the fluidity of a well-oiled machine.

Will exchanges a look with Beverly beside him, his look of barely masked dread mirrored on her face. He turns to look for Jack among the sea of moving heads around him, but someone on his right beats him to the chase, bellowing across the room.

“Hey, Marshal!”

He barely has time to look back before someone pushes past him in a flurry of red hair and fury; the other one trails after his brother with a pained expression on his face.

It turns out they only have to walk a few paces before the crowd parts like the red sea to reveal Jack, turning around calmly. “Mr. Jacobs?”

“You’re orderin’ us to fight two level five Kaijus with a team that was meant to fight one!” Jacobs hisses, his voice dangerously level.

“I’m well aware. That’s why all other pilots are on standby, should you need any assis-”

Jack raises his hands in mock surrender as Jacobs grabs the lapels of his coat, “Oh, everyone in this god damn room knows we’re gonna need assistance.”

The other brother lays a hand on Jacobs’ arm and tries to draw him back. “Pete, come on…”

Peter Jacobs turns back to give his brother a withering look, “You stay outta this, Cal. Understand me?” Another moment of tension later, Cal relinquishes his hold, and Peter returns his attention to Jack. “No one’s ever fought a category five and come out of it happy, Marshal. You’re already askin’ too much of us to go in there first. Now, I know my pops and I were the diehard types back in the day, but there is no way in _hell_ ,” his voice has dropped to a stage whisper, so Will has to strain to hear properly, “I’m dragging my little brother into a suicide mission.”

The man gives a surprised grunt when his younger brother yanks him back in a burst of furious strength; he staggers and almost crashes into Will as Calvin Jacobs faces Jack with a defiant expression on his face. “I apologize for the insubordination, sir. My brother does not speak for us both, and we will report to the conn-pod as assigned, sir.” He even finishes with a little salute, which Jack returns before walking away.

As the crowd disperses, Peter Jacobs rounds on his brother with a snarl. “What the fuck are you doin’? For God’s sake, I was tryin’ to-” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “We never should’ve come.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Pete. Not anymore.” Calvin says, and after a brief but terse silence between the two, they move off toward the changing rooms; Nova Hyperion’s pilots follow them momentarily, hunched together and speaking in hushed voices.

Will is still staring after them when someone behind him whistles low. “That was quite the show.” The young man making his way through the flow of people sports a mop of flyaway brown hair and blue eyes that widen just enough to be disconcerting as he turns back to address someone behind him. “Eh, Margot?”

“You’re the Vergers.” Will says before he can help himself. The brother and sister team stationed at Anchorage rose to fame after Will’s time, but even he had been mildly impressed at the two category three’s they managed to fight off in 2024.

“Mason Verger; Pavlov’s Maze, left hemisphere.” The man grasps Will’s hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “And the surly one’s my sister, Margot.” The wide-eyed young woman beside him, who had been glancing at Lecter, snaps to attention at Mason’s hand on her shoulder. Will tries hard not to think about the wince on her face at the touch. “Say hi, sis.”

Margot Verger’s eyes travel to Will and his co-pilot, and for a second she looks like she wants to speak; but the moment passes and with one last pointed glare at her brother, she turns on her heels and follows the other members of the strike team out.

Mason shrugs nonchalantly. “Sorry about that, she can be a little…prickly.” He says. “But I do need to get going. I’ll see you on the other side, Mr. Graham.” The smile he levels at Will as he moves away is dauntless, and perhaps a little manic. Will supposes it’s not uncommon in their line of work.

In fact, he’s thinking about Mason so intently it takes him a few seconds to realize he never gave his name.

“So that’s our first response team.” He blinks as Lecter speaks up next to him. “Intersting mix.”

Will looks back at the monitor, where the two Kaiju are gliding through the waters around the Breach. The wings on the smaller one are unmistakable this time. “Peter Jacobs is right.”

“And what would you have our friend Jack do?” When he looks at Lecter, the latter is wearing a surprisingly severe expression. “Send all of us out at once and hope for the best?” When Will stays silent, Lecter promptly turns on his heels and marches out of the command center.

He’s still staring after his co-pilot with a frown when he feels a nudge on his arm. “How about that shitshow, eh?” There’s a hard edge to Beverly’s voice that hadn’t been there the day before, and when Will looks over at her and Alana, he sees identical grim sets to their mouths.

“It’s not fair.” Alana says, “I can’t believe Jack is going through with this.” She shakes her head, and Beverly lays a reassuring hand on her arm. “What are you thinking, Will?”

He chooses his next words carefully, deliberately. “I’m thinking if none of those people come back alive, we’re all going be in a lot of trouble.” The heavy silence that falls between them is interrupted when a technician stumbles by Will and almost crashes into him, barely hanging on to the massive box of headsets he’s carrying.

“Hey, watch it, Zeller!” Beverly calls after him with a quirk of her lips; the young man doesn’t look back, but gives her the middle finger over his shoulder. She rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s get to the observation room. Those guys are gonna need us on red alert if they need back-up.” Beverly turns to Will as they start to make their way across the room. “What happened to your co-pilot?”

Will shrugs. “He took off.”

The Asian woman raises a dark eyebrow while Alana frowns. “Well, wherever he is, he better get his ass ready when we need him.”

* * *

 

The observation room, Will decides, is really nothing more than a glorified bunker. The room had likely been an interrogation chamber before the Pan Pacific Defense Corps took over; low, bare walls of reinforced steel, a wide table bolted into the floor in the middle of the room, and a single hanging incandescent lightbulb that doesn’t quite light up the entire room. It’s more crowded than Will expected; most of the pilots are congregated in front of the table, just under a massive screen showing feeds from several cameras at once, one of which is the same image he’d seen earlier with the two category fives. The rest of the room is filled out with a dozen non-essential personnel.

Will trails after Alana as Beverly manoeuvres them unapologetically through the crowd. Someone passes out a handful of squeaky metal folding chairs, and Will takes a seat to the left of the screen, one of the corners of the table digging uncomfortably into his back.

The murmur in the room dies down almost immediately as the screen changes; the image from the Breach stays on the left, while the rest of the screen is divided vertically into three different feeds from the point of view of each of the Jaegers in the loading dock. Nova Hyperion’s head is being lowered onto the body just as Jack’s voice comes through on the intercom.

“All teams, report.”

A slightly accented female voice is the first to answer. “Nova Hyperion, ready for launch.”

“Pavlov’s maze, ready for take-off.” Mason drones over the intercom.

There’s a short pause, followed by a heavy sigh that fills Will’s ears with static, before Peter Jacobs answers, “Let’s get this over with.”

A deep metal groan resonates from the feed just as Will feels the floor vibrate under his chair. “Eastern bay doors open; carrier cables secured. We are go for launch.”

“Here we go,” Beverly whispers behind him, but Will’s gaze doesn’t stray from the screen. The whole compound seems to be shaking as the three Jaegers are wheeled across the atrium and out through the loading platform, where the cables are secured to series of carrier aircrafts which will take them to Challenger Deep. The night is dark and stormy, with rain battering the hulls of the Jaegers; the only thing visible during the occasional flashes of lightning are the endless black waters of the Apra Harbour. Will realizes he’s been holding his breath, and lets air whistle out between his lips slowly, just as the team begins to move. The 150-mile journey to the Breach takes less than twenty minutes on the new carrier crafts, but the tense silence that settles over every corner of the observation room seems to stretch the minutes into hours. It makes Will think eerily of death row prisoners marching to the electric chair.

No one speaks over the roar of engines and crash of waves from the intercom. “We are now 1000 meters away from the Breach,” a tech says, “Initiating drop in three, two, one.”

Within moments, the three Jaegers are fully submerged. “Switching to instruments and engaging thrusters.” The left hemisphere pilot of Nova Hyperion, Yuna An, said, and the other two teams follow silently. The display screens flicker into a topographical map, with the three Jaegars as green blips and, at the very edge of the circle directly in front of them, are the two Kaiju in blinking red. The thrusters whirl to life and propel the Jaegers forward and up, moving them closer to their destination and slowing their descent all at once.

“Romeo, Nova, you guys all ready?” Mason’s voice drones, the only one in this whole operation who seems completely unperturbed by the situation.

“Affirmative.”

“Roger that, bearing northeast.”

Just as two of the green dots veer off to either side of Pavlov’s maze, Will hears Alana muttering to Beverly. “They’re splitting up, taking the Kaiju from multiple directions. Do you think that’s going to work?”

“It’d work better if they had more time to coordinate it, but it’s better than charging in head-on, I guess.” Beverly replies. “Jaegers are pretty conspicuous, but these Kaiju aren’t exactly the brightest tools in the shed, either. If Pavlov distracts them, the other two might be able to spring a surprise attack.”

“Prepare for landing.” The sound of Margot’s voice, steady and confident, surprises Will, as a muffled crash signals the Vergers’ Jaeger landing on the ocean floor. It only take a few steps forward, however, before a perimeter alarm sounds movement at the Breach. Will sits up a little straighter, hands clasping each other tightly; Pavlov is still 700 meters away from the Breach, and the other two Jaegers haven’t even landed yet, but the Kaiju are already on the move?

“Pavlov, you’ve got incoming!” the same tech from before says with a terse voice. “600, no, 500 meters!”

“Jesus, this thing’s fast.” Someone at the back of the room says, to a murmur of agreement.

“Control, do we continue to our designated locations?” Calvin Jacobs asks.

Jack takes to the microphone. “Listen to me, Rangers-”

“Keep going!” Mason actually sounds like he’s enjoying himself. “The other one’s still at the Breach. We’ll holler if we need help.”

There’s a slight pause before Jack speaks again. “You heard him, Rangers, proceed as planned.”

“Deploy the plasma cannon, Margot.” Will can practically see Mason smacking his lips. “Let’s see what Slithertail’s got in him.”

“100 meters...50 meters...!” Every eye in the room is fixed on the little red dot, blinking closer and closer to Pavlov.

“I see something!” Margot says.

Her brother goes to say “Shoot”, but the plasma cannon is already firing. Will winces and waits for the thunderous impact, but it doesn’t come. The whole room sits with bated breath as the seconds tick by silently.

“Pavlov’s maze, do you have a confirmed hit?”

It takes a few moments for Margot to answer, “Negative, sir. The target has...disappeared.” She’s right; the only red dot left on the screen is the one still hovering by the Breach. The first Kaiju seems to have vanished into thin air.

“What the hell?” Beverly’s words matches Will’s thoughts exactly. This must be some kind of new trick, a cloaking ability, maybe? But Margot had seen something in front of them with her own eyes; it can’t have just disappeared like that.

“Nova Hyperion, Romeo Blue, come in. Are you at Breach? Do you have eyes on the second target?”

“Nova Hyperion reporting. We have reached the designated location and we can confirm visual on the second Kaiju, code name Kaminari.”

“Yeah, roger that.” Peter Jacobs says. “It’s just swimming in circles around the Breach, I don’t think it’s noticed us.”

“Hold your positions for now.”

“And what about us, Marshal?” Mason asks, “What are we supposed to do when we don’t even know where-” He breaks off as the sound of screeching metal comes through the intercom. “Shit, we’ve been hit! We’ve made contact with target! System, assess damage!” The indistinguishable female voice of the operating system sounds in the background, but is mostly drowned out by a blaring alarm.

Will looks at the locator map; it’s still showing only one red dot, hovering around the Breach. The Vergers are surrounded by nothing but open water.

“Pavlov, do you have visual on the target?” Jack’s voice is as authoritative as ever, but it’s lined with a rim of anxiety now. “Pavlov, come in!”

For a few heart-stopping seconds, no one replies. Then the intercom crackles to life again as Mason’s voice breaks through, a little grainy. “I-I can’t see a fucking thing. Margot? Mar-” A deep groan echos around the observation room, and Margot shrieks.

“Mason? Jesus.” A few clicks and rustles while she presumably struggles to flip switches on the control board, and what sounds suspiciously like rushing water in the background. “The conn-pod has been compromised, I repeat, we’ve been compromised! Command center, we need to-”

Will hears the unmistakable crunch of breaking glass, the crackling of electricity, and a sudden, inhuman screech that has everyone in the observation room clasping their ears. The sound only lasts for a few moments, but the static that eventually cuts it off is even more horrifying. Will and a few others have risen to their feet; no one speaks, but someone is letting out shallow, wet breaths from the back of the room. Pavlov’s green dot on the map flashes once, twice, then disappears from view.

“Did we just lose Pavlov?” Calvin Jacobs says with noticeable dread in his voice.

“Jesus Christ.” Will turns back to see Alana sinking back down into her chair, her face buried in her hands. Beverly stands incredibly still beside her, eyes fixed on the screens.

“Command center? What are our orders?” Yuna An asks.

It’s the tech from before, not Jack, who answers. “Nova Hyperion, Romeo Blue, you are to hold your positions.”

“Hold our positions?” Peter Jacobs, ignoring the protests of his brother in the background, snaps into the microphone. “You want us to stay here and get picked off by whatever the fuck wiped Pavlov off the map?”

“Ranger Jacobs, you are to remain in your position while we reconfigure the tracking system-”

He scoffs. “Fuck this. We’re not gonna be sitting ducks while you guys fiddle with your machines. We’re moving in.” A distant whir of the weapons system engaging. “Nova, you with us? Just like we planned originally.”

“Nova Hyperion, engaging weapons systems.” The two female pilots reply in unison.

Peter Jacobs chuckles, “Let’s rock and roll.”

Surprisingly, no one in the command center protests; Will suspects Jack is holding them back.

“Releasing flares in three, two, one.” So-Yi Pang announces. “Flares deployed, target sighted." On the Breach feed, Kaminari starts to move away from the camera, eventually fading into the darkness of the water. The map shows the Kaiju moving north toward Romeo Blue, distracted by the flares.

“Readying grappling hook... come on, you little bitch, just a little closer...” Peter Jacobs mutters, and Will has to strain to hear as the red dot on the map blinks steadily toward the Jaeger. “Now!”

Will can’t hear the hook shooting out of the abdomen of the Jaeger, nor can he see it grasp the turtle-like Kaiju around the torso, but the images flash through his mind all the same as Calvin Jacobs says triumphantly, “Target hooked, reeling ‘im in!” Romeo Blue gets into defense position as the Kaiju is drawn toward it; the sounds of its struggle against the hold of the steel cables drifts through the intercom, but the Jaeger’s armor holds strong. “Nova, you’re up!”

The other Jaeger is already on the move. Striker Eureka, the first and only mark five ever made, was destroyed at the end of the first Kaiju War; Nova Hyperion has now taken its place as the fastest Jaeger in the world. It reaches Romeo Blue and Kaminari in seconds. “Engaging rotor blades.” Pang says, and one of the Jacobs brothers lets out an appreciative whistle.

“Rangers, do you have a hit?” The tech comes back, his voice hesitant. “Is the target down?”

Slowly, the silhouettes of the two Jaegers appear side by side at the Breach, something huge and bulky in one of the Romeo Blue’s hands. They stop over the Breach, and Romeo holds up the head of the Kaiju at the camera. “That down enough for you, control?” Peter Jacobs asks.

The observation room lets out a collective breath, and Jack comes back on the line. “Let’s get you back, Rangers.”

“Wait,” Calvin Jacobs says, “What is that flashing panel? Pete, look at this.”

“Romeo, on your twelve!” Yuna An barely gets the words out before a projectile-like object slams into Romeo blue, leaving a large gash in its lower back that seeps black oil into the water. Nova Hyperion’s rotor blades are back out in a flash, and just in time to engage the lizard-shaped Kaiju that has leaped onto the Jaeger. Again, Slithertail is nowhere to be found on the map.

“Romeo Blue, damage assessment! Come in, Romeo Blue!”

“It’s alright, we’re OK.” Peter Jacobs sounds shaken. “Don’t worry, Nova, we’re coming for you! Cal, get the gatling guns!” On the Breach feed, the mark one Jaeger struggles to get back on its feet; panels open in the chest, and three rockets are fired toward Slithertail. One of them manages to knock the Kaiju off Nova Hyperion, while the other crashes harmlessly into nearby rocks. As Romeo prepares to engage the target again, Will’s eyes turn to Nova. The Jaeger’s right arm is hanging by a thread at the elbow, yet he hadn’t heard a single noise of pain from either of the pilots.

Pang, when she speaks, does sound strained. “The target’s skin is armored. Our rotor blades could not penetrate its exterior.”

“Good to know, Nova.” Romeo grabs Slithertail by its shoulder blades and slams the creature down on the ocean floor. It struggles wildly against the arm and leg holding it down, while Romeo raises its other arm. “Looks like we’re bringing out the new plasma canon.” The canon morphs into shape and begins to glow a bright, electric blue. Romeo wastes no time in pressing the canon against the Kaiju’s chest and firing once, twice, until it lies completely still against the sand.

Nova steps closer to the body. “Is it down?”

“Think so,” Calvin Jacobs says, surveying the motionless creature. Someone behind him clasps their hands together in relief, but Will, still focused on the screen, narrows his eyes at the body. _A twitch in the fingers--_ He opens his mouth in a fruitless warning as the Kaiju flails to its feet heedless of the hole it now sports in its shoulder, its tail whipping around in deadly arcs in the water until it finds its mark; Nova Hyperion’s connection is instantly cut off as the tail spears the conn-pod. The Jaeger falls to its side and doesn’t get up again.

“You fucking-” Peter Jacobs’ curse breaks off into a cry as the Kaiju sinks its teeth into Romeo’s leg. The arm on his side curls into a fist and slams into the side of Slithertail’s jaw; the creature moves off, but the finger joints on the Kaiju hang limp and useless. “Shit, the gatling gun’s jammed.” A strange hiss of air comes through the intercom. “I have to go set off the manual override.”

“ _Pete, don’t-!_ ” With the same screech Will heard from Pavlov’s Maze’s feed, the Kaiju pounces on Romeo, its claws digging into the neck of the Jaeger. “PETE! NO! Ranger down! Control, my brother is- god, I think he’s dead-” His voice breaks.

“Ranger, this is your Marshal speaking.” Jack’s voice is calm but urgent. “You’ve got a hostile tearing your circuits to shreds right now, you need to eliminate the target. Reach over and take your co-pilot’s control pad.”

“I...”

“Do it, Ranger!”

“Pete, he’s-”

“ _Now!_ ”

With an anguished roar from Calvin Jacobs, Romeo Blue’s right arm moves up, the plasma cannon glowing blue once more. The left arm wraps around the neck of the Jaeger tightly to hold it in place, as the canon is shoved between its teeth. One blast that makes the creature glow from the inside out, and the body finally falls over into the sand.

Jacobs is heaving in great big gulps of wet breath as he chokes out, “Target eliminated.”

“Good work, Ranger. We’ve got rescue choppers on their way.”

Will brushes a hand through his hair and turns back to the other pilots. Beverly stares at the screen stiffly, and Alana’s eyes are glistening. The rest of the room is thick with whispers.

“That was less than ideal.” Will looks up to see Hannibal Lecter making his way over from the doorway. Had he been there the entire time?

Beverly grimaces. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What the hell was that? It didn’t show up on our sensors.” Alana taps her fingers on her arm nervously. “How are we supposed to fight these things if we can’t even see them coming?” All four fall silent as the observation room slowly empties, everyone’s faces mirroring Alana’s devastation. Despite himself, Will is inclined to sympathize; every pilot has come here with the assumption that if they’d lived through one war they’d survive another, but while time and peace has dulled their senses, it’s only made the Kaiju stronger. These Category Five’s weren’t like anything they’d ever seen before, and with this new-found power to evade their detection system, pilots would have to learn to fight without any assistance from home base.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Beverly stands with Alana in her wake. At the doorway she looks back at Will and Lecter, but eventually leaves without another word.

“What are you thinking about?” Lecter says, taking a seat beside Will, somehow managing to look refined and sophisticated lounging in a metal folding chair.

Will searches in his mouth for more elegant words, but opts for truth instead, “How fucked we are.”

This earns him a chuckle from his co-pilot. “You mustn’t lose hope, Will.” He muses.

“Why not? I’m not a very hopeful person to begin with.”

Lecter shrugs his shoulders a little, “Hope and fear are inseparable; and no one should think they are to survive this war without fear.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about that, Dr. Lecter.” Will says. “I deal with a tremendous amount of fear on a daily basis.”

“And what are you afraid of?”

_Crackling electrical circuits. Snow drifting onto his face. A scream, cut off midway-_

“Dr. Lecter?”

They both turn to find Jack in the doorway. Will remains seated while Lecter stands. “Yes, Marshal?”

“There’s a...situation we could use you on.” He steals a glance at Will hesitantly.

Will sighs. “Are you going to make my co-pilot keep even more secrets from me, Jack?”

The look he earns back from Jack is none too kind, but the Marshal beckons them both forward after a moment, setting a brisk pace down the hall. “About 5 minutes after we made contact with the first Kaiju, we got an SOS from the surface near the Breach; rescue just came back.”

Will frowns, “Who-?”

“The Vergers. Apparently they managed to eject before Pavlov’s Maze went down; Margot’s the one who sent out the signal after they reached the surface.” The three turn left down the hallway toward the infirmary. “We’re patching them up right now. She’s ok, just shaken up. The brother... well, our doctors are doing their best.”

“Jack, what does any of this have to do with us?”

“Margot was almost catatonic when we rescued her. We only managed to get one coherent thing out of her since.” He looks back and addresses Lecter directly. “She asked for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know those ridiculous plot bunnies you get in your head that you HAVE to write out just because you've wasted so much time on them already? This is that.


End file.
